


Blowout

by jambees221b



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Meetings, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Roadside Assistance AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-11 14:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11150316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jambees221b/pseuds/jambees221b
Summary: A flat tire isn’t always a bad thing, especially when the tow truck driver is as hot, and accommodating, as the one who shows up to help Arthur.





	Blowout

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to tag along with my favourite cheer-reader [brookebond](http://archiveofourown.org/users/brookebond), who’s starting All Porn June after a difficult No Angst May. This is my first humble offering and my first time writing PWP! I hope you’ll like it!
> 
> Special thanks to the Inception Slack, who listened and tried to help when my car broke down, then cheered me on when I vented by writing smut. Also, a huge thank you to [kate_the_reader](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kate_the_reader) for beta’ing and to [Oceaxe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/oceaxe) for being an amazing smut and stylistic consultant.

It has been a very, very long and tiring day. Useless meetings that should have been emails, endless rambling from coworkers he politely nodded along to, scream-inducing client calls that put him terribly behind. The usual. Yet again, Arthur is the last one to leave the office. The sun has set long ago, leaving the hallways pitch black as he turns the lights off, making his way downstairs to the underground parking lot.

Keys in one hand, briefcase in the other, he briskly walks through the deserted lot to his car, all alone in the south-west corner. He casts a glance at the security camera, nodding a silent hello to Yusuf, the security guard on duty. 

He starts to relax once he gets closer to his car, eager to get behind the wheel. The Audi is a joy to drive, and his daily commute is his very own brand of meditation. 

Something’s not right, though. Did he park in a hole this morning? The car isn’t level. 

Making his way to the driver side, the tension in his shoulders comes back with a vengeance. 

The back tire is flat. Shit.

His French Canadian heritage comes back in full force, a litany of colourful swear words coming out of his mouth. Swearing like a sailor, perfect answer to any given situation. His mom would be proud.

His dad, not so much, though. Despite all of his old man’s efforts, he never picked up a thing about car maintenance. Why get your hands dirty when someone else can do it for you? Plus, there’s no way he’ll risk ruining his bespoke suit kneeling on the oily pavement. Yeah. This is exactly what he’ll tell whoever comes with the tow truck. No need to admit that he’s clueless when it comes to replacing a flat tire.

He whips out his cellphone, calling roadside assistance. His irritation slowly subsides while he uses the waiting time to answer emails and get a little bit further ahead on tomorrow’s to-do list, propped against the car. 

The soft rumble of the towing truck grows louder as it makes it way down the levels. Arthur pushes himself off from the car, tightening his tie and dusting off his suit, making sure his armor is ready to defend his masculinity with an air of professional superiority.

The truck comes to a halt in front of him. The driver door opens and a broad-shouldered man jumps out. 

“Lovely evening, isn’t it? Name’s Eames. How can I be of assistance?” he says, walking towards him with a blinding smile and a lovely muscular arm reaching out for a handshake. 

Great. This is just his luck. Now, he’s going to look like a fool in front of this grease-stained and dusty British Adonis. Can this day just be over yet?

He tries really hard not to stare at the tattoos peeking out of the obscenely tight white t-shirt the driver is wearing, schooling his features into his best frown as he firmly shakes his hands. If his gaze lingers a little longer than acceptable on the sculpted length of his body and the strangely appealing overalls covering his legs, he hopes his withdrawn expression will help him save face.

“Arthur. Flat tire. I’d do it myself but … suit.” he says, gesturing down his body with the other hand.

Eames shoots him a cocky grin, an eyebrow rising up in a teasing manner. “If all my clients looked half as dashing as you, I’d lobby for a law to make tow truck calling mandatory in case of flat tires. Alright, let’s get to work!”

Feeling his cheeks heat up and a corresponding excitement pooling in his lower belly, Arthur steps back, propping himself once again on the side of his car, casting sideways glances as Eames makes his way to the trunk, picking up the necessary tools and kneeling next to the wheel to assess the damage. 

His every move is efficient, making quick work of removing the punctured tire and replacing it with the spare. Arthur has a hard time tearing his eyes away from how tantalizing his ass looks in his ridiculous dusty outfit. 

“Liking what you see, Arthur?” 

Oops. Caught out. The game is on, then.

He makes a show of slowly bringing his gaze from the muscular backside up to his sinful lips, slowly licking his own and biting the lower one, before meeting his eyes. 

“How perceptive of you, Mr. Eames. What are you going to do with this information, now?”

“We aim to please, darling,” he purrs as he slowly stands up, wiping his hands on his thighs, then crowding him against the car, his hands on the door on both sides of Arthur’s waist. “Do you want to call upon our complimentary services?”

“I’m experiencing pressure and heat issues … Care to investigate?” 

Never breaking eye contact, Eames slowly gets down to his knees, his neglected appearance a sharp contrast to the pristine lines of Arthur’s suit. “Let’s see what we can do. Can you show me where the problem is?” he whispers, a salacious grin on his lips.

Arthur makes short work of unfastening his pants and getting his underwear out of the way, grabbing the base of his cock. Looking down at him through his lashes, he silently dares him to make a move.

With a low, smug chuckle, Eames moves closer, his warm breath on Arthur’s exposed skin sending shivers down his spine. 

“Hold it steady, love”, he breathes out, before extending his tongue and slowly licking a trail from Arthur’s hand up to the crown. 

Arthur lets a groan escape as Eames’ tongue lazily circles at the tip before he engulfs the head and starts to suck in earnest.

With both his hands still on the car, Eames’ luscious mouth is the only contact point between them. Arthur’s going to come embarrassingly fast if he keeps looking.

The minute Eames’ mouth surrounds him, he closes his eyes and throws his head back, moaning deeply. The vision of the stubbled face, plump mouth stretched around his cock, is burned into his memory, though, and looking away is not nearly enough to calm him down. He opens his eyes, hoping that the rough finish of the ceiling might give him some sort of distraction keeping him from this ending too soon. 

Ceiling. Underground parking lot. Oh fuck.

His eyes dart to the security camera, partly hidden by the tow truck. Hopefully, he’s not giving an eyeful to Yusuf. Much to his surprise, the idea of getting caught does nothing to dampen his arousal. On the contrary, he can feel the tell-tale signs of his impending release. Trying to stave things off, he squeezes the base of his cock.

Eames automatically releases him, tutting. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, pet.” Arthur whimpers as cold air hits his feverish skin. Looking down, he realizes that Eames took advantage of his distracted state to free his erection, and is now stroking himself intently, his swollen mouth parted as he pants, a hedonistic look on his face. 

On its own accord, Arthur’s free hand reaches for the back of Eames’ head, fingers massaging his scalp. With an impish gleam in his eye, Eames allows the hand to guide him back to pick up where he left off, his mouth moving expertly, drawing loud moans from Arthur. 

He tries to warn him by pulling his hair, but only spurs him on. He can feel more than hear Eames humming his disapprobation at the attempt to pull him away. The added vibration tips Arthur over the edge, Eames’ name resonating vehemently in the empty lot. 

Through a euphoric haze, Arthur lets his hand slide down Eames’ jaw until his thumb presses on his lower lip. Eames eagerly draws it in, his hand moving frantically until he grows tense and ribbons of come stripe his upper body. 

What a gorgeous sight they must form. Arthur, still propped against the car, not a drop spilled, suit still immaculate, not a hair out of place. Eames, debauched on the ground, come covering his hand and t-shirt, tousled hair a perfect match for his red, shiny mouth.

A few minutes pass, the sound of their heavy breath intimate in the darkness of the vacant lot. Eames eventually removes his soiled t-shirt and uses it to wipe his hand. Arthur can’t keep his eyes off the muscular torso and the multitude of intriguing tattoos he is now exhibiting. 

“Didn’t get quite enough, love?” Eames teases. He walks back to his truck and starts filling out paperwork, the broad expanse of his back flexing as he writes. 

Arthur can feel himself blush and busies himself at picking up his briefcase and readjusting his suit. If not for the incongruous lack of the driver’s shirt, one would never suspect that something happened here. 

“Don’t I need to give you my AAA card?”

“Nah. It won’t be necessary,” he says as he tears back the form and hands it to him. He winks and climbs back in his truck.

Arthur looks down at the bill, confused. In place of the proper information, a phone number is written across the paper, followed by “Call me.”

The sound of the truck engine being started brings his attention back to Eames, who waggles his eyebrows, makes a phone sign with his hand and drives away, leaving a speechless Arthur behind.

Arthur stands until he can't see the truck anymore, then climbs into his own car. Resisting the urge to pinch himself at how surreal the situation is, he dials the number on the paper. The call connects faster than he expected.

“Your eagerness flatters me, darling,” he croons. Arthur feels warm all over again. 

"Smooth move, that bill, Mr. Eames. I’m impressed.”

Eames chuckles. “Well, apparently, it had the desired effect. I’d very much like to be the first one you call, should another issue arise.”

Arthur blushes fiercely, a broad smile breaking out across his face. “Oh, I will. Trust me, I will.”


End file.
